sábado, 4 de abril de 2009

we are chained

I am listening to Hey by Pixies and let me start with this. This song is fucking hot. what else can i say except to point out the obvious; the direct, remarkable way that this song exudes and breathes sex and desire and the twisted turns of events that makes us human, that makes us go back to mistakes and nonsense, all which seem to be rearranged, or justified by the 3 odd minutes of this song being played. I really like this concert because of the dim orange lights that seem to be powerless and the way they slow the tempo and everybody singing in the background. it reminds me about my contemporary literary theory class this week, about Mikhail Bajtin studies of Rabelais use of the carnival in Rennaisance literature. The carnival, (or concert, in this context) is a celebration of abundance and decadence, a new way to look at the world based on feeling like a definite part of a collective union. Chaos and self awareness fully formed as a revolt of a culture controlled by the paradigms imposed by social hierarchy and organized institution. It was a response, a way to hold onto inmortality. todomenosmorir. people feel, first than anything their unity in time, their inmortality in history. they put all their faith in the collective feeling that swirled in a shared space and a faith was acquired because this was bigger than life itself, or bigger than you for that matter and your own impending death.

i love this song because of the texture of Frank Black's voice and Kim Deal and thechorus with the we're chaained that comes and goes and completely complements the chord progression, and the base and that intro, which has to be, by far, one of the most powerful intros ever. This anguish, i have felt before. maybe that is why i like it so much? i don't know. we are chained. we have conversations on weekends at seven in the morning about our past and confess that which blinded us, to feel again, with that intensity, fuck. nothing will test you like that. now we build gods out of skepticism, we are made of stone, beautiful granite. we smoke and drink way way too much for our own good and then we can never fall asleep right and my heart starts beating out of my chest, too much cheap red wine, we are exhausted and 24 is just around the corner.

the night multiplies into hundreds, last night i laughed at the ridiculousness of your excuse to come upstairs which spelled desire right from the bat because how little sense it made. we don't make any sense. this is the location of chemistry and reason reducing chaos to movement patterns of fusion and expansion, possible infinites of move and response bounded by the imagination, the unspoken agreements, blah blah blah. i am about to turn 24, i go to sleep, i study, i read, i walk, i work, i sing must be a devil between us and find so much truth in the things we carry. the constant struggle that is being in between the sloppy intersection of desires and fears and having no idea what is going to happen next. what a gift. what a fucked up gift this life has given us.

"It is tragic and sad and chaotic and lovely. All life is the same, as citizens of the human state: the animating limits are within, to be killed and mourned, over and over again." - David Foster Wallace.